


What I Deserve

by snowdrops23



Category: markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, a looooot of swearing, mark is angery, you are concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops23/pseuds/snowdrops23
Summary: Mark gets a little rage-y and you help him through it.The teen rating is just for swearing, no smut or anything.





	What I Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> My idiot brain had this idea when I watched Mark play Getting Over It. This is my first fic ever, let me know any critiques you have!

“God, fucking, fucking, FUCK!”

I hear a door slam, almost hard enough to break the hinges. A slam against the wall echoes as a man's voice continues to scream profanities. As I turn, I see his face, contorted in a mixture of emotions, none of them good. I smile slightly, in spite of the scene in front of me. I understand he's in pain, and I shouldn't make a mockery of him, but the fact that a simple game could cause a 27 year old man to have a tantrum is somewhat amusing. Then I remind myself – no matter how unreal it seems to me, he really is in pain. 

Slowly, I take the kettle off the stove and pour the hot water into a mug. I knew this was going to happen the minute I walked into the house and he told me what his plans were today.

He was going to make a video. A popular game, it had been requested a lot.  
Getting Over It.  
“Isn't that, like, a rage game?” I had asked.  
“..Yeah.”  
Oh boy.

After some more screaming, he seems to notice I'm in the room. I put on a face of kind understanding, but I can't help letting some amusement show.

“Rough time?”

I can already tell his response - he'll try to articulate a response, searching for the proper words until he just devolves into more swearing.

“I just- the camera kept- ugh, god fucking DAMNIT!”

He's rather predictable.

As he continues to try and explain his anger, he marches over to the couch. Eventually, he's so driven to anger that he lashes out at a pillow with a resounding "FUCK!" At this point, I lose my amusement. His frustration is painful to watch. No matter how silly, nobody likes to see their partner in pain.

After he's sufficiently abused the pillow, he looks up at me with dejected eyes. My face mirrors his pain as I approach with the cup of tea. Chamomile. I figured caffeine wouldn't help the situation. Setting the cup down on the coffee table, I wrap my arms around him. He desperately clings to my figure, chest heaving. I think he had been brought to tears while recording; his face is splotchy. The two of us sit down after a few minutes. He is deceptively calm, but I know it's not over. 

He shakes his head. “God, I'm so fucking stupid. It's a game. A game! IT'S A FUCKING GAME!” He moves animatedly with every word, as if expelling the rage by waving it away. At the end, he turns his eyes towards me again. His mouth opens, as if he wants to say more, but it closes again. I hug him again, cradling his head in the crook of my neck.

This isn't the first time this has happened. It's rarely been this bad, but then, he rarely plays this kind of game. A true gamer, it's not his own faults that cause the rage – it's the flaws of the game. I'm sure this one is no different.

He KNOWS how to do it. 

He just CAN'T.

And that makes him upset.

I feel a brief surge of anger at those who recommend he play it – they do it purely for the reaction he gives them. But he's the one who chooses to play them, knowing the consequence. Usually he stops himself before he gets to this point, though. 

We're quiet for a few moments as his heart rate decelerates. Running my fingers through his hair, I gently ask, “Was there a frustrating game mechanic?” already knowing the answer.

He sits up. “God, yes. The fucking camera!” The swearing is back. “The cursor didn't follow the mouse, it followed the camera! That you can't control! Every time I tried to get over something, it would never be the same, it was never consistent, because the camera angle always fucking changed! You had to be so fucking meticulous, so fucking precise! It was bullshit!”

I nod.

“I mean, yeah, there WERE some times where it was my fault. That's fine! What fucking WASN'T fine was when you'd lose all that fucking progress on something out of your control! God, it's like RNG but worse because this was MADE to make you fail! It was CREATED to fuck you over!”

I nod.

“Oh, oh, oh my GOD, and then there were times when I wouldn't even move the mouse and I'd keep moving onscreen and I'd fall and-” he buries his head into the pillow. “FUCK!” 

Reemerging from the pillow, he flings his head back behind the couch. Looking at him, he seems to have exhausted most of his rage. Instead of fury, all that is shown on his features is blank exhaustion, with a hint of anger. I take him into my arms again. 

Nothing more is said. 

The window is open. Rubbing his arm, I look outside. It's sunny out. A tree's leaves are jostled from a slight breeze. The occasional car passes. The scent of a barbecue wafts in from someone's backyard. The calming air seems to wrap around us as we sit and enjoy the quiet.

After what could have been minutes or hours, he talks again. 

“I'm sorry.” Quietly spoken. He's hoarse from yelling.

“It's alright.” 

“I shouldn't get so worked up. It's just a game. It's stupid to get mad over a game.”

“It's not stupid to be upset when something out of your control interferes with your experience of something.”

“It doesn't make sense. It's not rational,” He replies, lifting himself out of my arms to look at me.

“Sometimes, things aren't rational. If we lived in a perfectly rational world, nobody would be happy.” 

Sighing, he shakes his head slightly.

“You deserve better than to have to deal with someone who screams over a game.”

His head lowers.

“Better than this.”

My hand reaches out for his.

“What I deserve,” I murmur.

“What I deserve is a man who doesn't lie about how he feels. What I deserve is a man who is willing to be open with his struggles with me. What I deserve is a man who is passionate about what he loves. ”

He looks up, a thankful smile on his lips.

“Mark, I know what I deserve,” I say. “That's why I'm sitting right here.”

Any frustration or sadness left dissolves from his face. His hand cups my face, pulling it towards his. Tenderly, he kisses me. As we pull away, I look into his eyes and see peace. Knowing that I helped bring that tranquility to him brings a smile to my face. The sound of birds from the open window float through the room as we look into each others' eyes.


End file.
